


A Rose in Spring

by daylighthour



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angry!Arthur, Canon, Gen, Guilt, Training, angry!merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylighthour/pseuds/daylighthour
Summary: Merlin is fed up with doing all the hard work and getting none of the credit. When Arthur lashes out at him in a fit of anger, it's the last straw.





	A Rose in Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe a bit OOC on all counts, but it's all in good fun. There's no specific timeframe for the story, but perhaps season 1 or 2 when the Merlin/Arthur friendship is just taking off.

Hunith had once told her son that the first spring morning there was no frost on the ground was a day for miracles to occur. Merlin, upon waking and peering out of the tiny windows of his chambers, saw no frost twinkling on the grass and wished desperately for his mother’s words to be true. He could use a miracle on this day. He well and truly could.

  
When he had left his room, Gaius greeted him with a push toward the table. “Eat quickly,” he said, placing a bowl of oatmeal before him. “Arthur has requested your presence on the training grounds immediately.”

  
“‘Course he has,” Merlin mumbled behind a spoonful of breakfast. He grimaced and massaged his shoulder, the act of raising his spoon to his lips having awakened his sore and abused muscles. “Wouldn’t be Arthur if he had a shred of sympathy.”

  
Gaius sat across from him at the table, fixing him in a cloudy-eyed stare. “Merlin, you know Arthur doesn’t bring you to the training grounds purely to torment you.”

  
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he does.” Merlin grimaced again, trying to circle his shoulders to bring some life back into them. Every inch of him was sore and tender, right down to his head and his temper. “I’m sure seeing me battered like this day in and day out for a week is like a birthday present to him.”

  
“I know Arthur can be harsh at times, but I’m sure he’d lay off a bit if he knew how much he was hurting you,” Gaius said. “Have you tried telling him?”

  
Merlin laughed. “Yeah, and you know what I get for it? I get called a girl, and then the knights gang up on me again.”

  
Gaius stood and went to his collection of vials and herbs along the wall shelves. “I wish he treated you with a bit more grace, but you and I both know his heart and his intentions are pure.”

  
“Pure as mud,” Merlin grumbled.

  
“What was that?”

  
“Nothing.”

  
Gaius returned to the table, shaking a vial gently. “Drink this and be off. It’ll ease some of your aches and pains.”

Merlin downed the foul tincture in one go, then set off for the training grounds, his breakfast only half-eaten. “Best not to keep the almighty Prince Arthur waiting.”

  
*********************  
Dawn’s pinks and purples hadn’t receded fully from the sky yet, and here Merlin was, cowering under a shield as the Knights of Camelot wailed upon him with various weapons. He really didn’t know what Arthur was trying to prove, forcing his knights (and therefore Merlin) up at the break of day every day, but Merlin didn’t have enough energy to expend on caring. He was beginning to feel that being Arthur’s destiny was really just being the butt of a cruel joke.

  
“Merlin, for gods’ sakes,” Arthur jabbed at his already painful ribs with the toe of his boots. “Get up! I’m training my knights to fight against formidable adversaries, not little girls who throw a tantrum when their hair gets mussed.”

  
“My hair’s not _mussed_ , Arthur,” Merlin gasped, grabbing at his leg. “I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”

  
“That’s what you get for flailing around like a wild goose.” Arthur kicked at him again, harder this time, and Merlin groaned. “Now get up and stop complaining!”

  
“Arthur! It really hurts!”

  
“Well if it hurts that much you won’t be able to move, and you’ll actually be a stationary target like I asked you to!”

  
Cursing at him mentally, Merlin got up and tried to put as little weight on his injured ankle as he could while still supporting his shield. The knights, Arthur in particular, showed him no mercy, and Merlin was amazed his body could remain standing even in such a state of utter exhaustion. They’d been at it like this for a full week now, practicing for four hours every morning, and Merlin felt every minute of it.

  
Merlin sighed in relief and hobbled over to lean against a tree when Arthur announced the practice finished. He could hear the gentle rush of a spring breeze through the trees, and the air was such a wonderful, refreshing temperature against his cheeks. Merlin’s eyes slipped closed, if just for a moment.

  
“Tired, are you Merlin?”

  
Merlin opened his eyes just in time to catch Arthur’s gloves as they were flung against his chest. “A-a little, sire.”

Arthur walked back to the castle, calling over his shoulder, “Maybe polishing my armor will help you wake up a bit.”

Merlin’s temper grated red-hot against him, a fraying rope held away from breaking by a thread. So much for what his mother had said about miracles, clearly the one he wished for most of all wouldn’t be forthcoming.

  
*********  
Polishing Arthur’s armor did nothing to take the edge off Merlin’s mood. If anything, it enhanced it; each pass of stone against Arthur’s sword to sharpen it was mirrored in Merlin’s anger. No one but he was in the armory, and so he could murmur bitterly to himself.

  
“Clean my armor, Merlin. Wash my socks, Merlin. Hold a shield while I knock you over, Merlin. Never mind going to sleep or resting all the muscles I’ve caused you to pull, Merlin, but make my bed because I’m tired and a miserable prat who can’t do anything for himself!”

  
Once he had finished, Merlin threw the newly polished armor in a heap, knowing Arthur would punish him for it but feeling too riled up to care. His ankle throbbing painfully, he limped the whole way up to Arthur’s chambers.

  
When he entered, he found Arthur still sweaty and dressed in his training clothes, but at his desk scribbling feverish notes on the papers splayed about him. “I’ve finished with your armor, _sire_ ,” he said loudly. “Do you require anything else?”

  
The words caused Arthur to jump out of his seat, knocking over his inkpot in the process. Merlin watched in horror as the the ink spilled all over the paperwork like deep blue blood.

  
“Merlin!” Arthur roared. “You absolute imbecile! Do you know how long I’ve spent working on that speech?”

  
“S-s-speech f-for what?” Merlin stuttered, rushing to the desk to try to salvage what he could.

  
“Of course, out of all the stupid things that could come out of your big, stupid mouth, it’s that.” Arthur rolled his eyes, his cheeks glowing red. “Not, ‘I’m sorry, sire, I shouldn’t have startled you’ or ‘please excuse me for making a mess of things like I always do’.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, still trembling. Arthur had never truly yelled at him like this before. He gathered all the papers into his arms, wiping at the ink with his shirt.

  
Arthur snatched them from his hands. “You can’t wipe off the ink, you idiot!” He took a deep breath and blew it out harshly. The action seemed to calm him, if only temporarily.

  
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, remembering a second too late of the state of his hands. He growled. “Make yourself useful for once and run me a bath.”

  
Merlin left to do as he was told, leaving Arthur to huff and puff over his blue hands and face. Once Merlin had drawn the bathwater, he left Arthur alone to bathe, not wanting to be impaled any more with the short temper that had afflicted Arthur over the past week. This episode was but a single, concentrated explosion, and Merlin did not want to be witness to any more.

  
Merlin returned to the physicians chambers and set off to do his chores for Gaius. The more time that passed, the more his fear of Arthur faded and the more his resentment grew. If only Arthur knew how much Merlin did for him day in and day out, how many times he had saved his life using the magic that Uther would have him killed for possessing. Merlin sticking out his neck for Arthur’s sake had almost become habit, and what had he gotten in return?

  
“Not a word of thanks,” Merlin grumbled, sweeping the floor with vexatious vigor. “No, I’m just a servant. I’m not good enough for ‘thank you’s. Just to be hit around the head with a sword and criticized for every little thing I do.”

  
More consumed by his thoughts than his movements, Merlin knocked the tank of worms Gaius kept for potions over with a particularly violent sweep. He groaned as he watched them wriggle across the floor, muddy and slimy. He scooped up all the worms he could see at first glance and dumped them back in the tank, feeling in too foul a mood to look any more carefully or to clean up the muddy mess they had left behind.

  
Merlin sank against the wall. If only he had a moment’s rest, things would look all the brighter. But no, he couldn’t rest now. The light through the windows was waning, casting longer shadows, and he knew that it was time to bring the royal prat his dinner, lest he be verbally flogged for that too.

  
Merlin went to the kitchens to fetch a plate of chicken and berries for Arthur. He felt vaguely like spitting on it, but held himself back, investing his last share of strength in the hope that Arthur had had a softening of mood.

  
Merlin made sure to knock this time before entering. “Your dinner, sire.”

  
He placed the plate before Arthur, but the prince looked not at the food but at Merlin. His face was like an impassive stone but his tone was light enough. “Merlin, do you know who was just up to visit me?”

  
Merlin shook his head. “A beautiful young woman with eyes like emeralds and hair like gold?”

  
“A good guess, but wrong as usual, Merlin.” Arthur folded his hands atop the desk. “It was Sir Leon. And do you know what he said to me?”

  
Merlin could feel the air sizzling, as it does before a lightning storm, and so he held his tongue. He shook his head again.

  
“He told me that my armor had been discarded in a heap in a corner of the armory. I told him, ‘No, that can’t be right. I had Merlin polish my armor, and he’d _never_ be lazy with a job.’”

  
Arthur’s heavy sarcasm wormed its way to Merlin’s core and reawakened his anger. His arms stiffened at his sides.

  
“Now tell me, and choose your words carefully. Why did Sir Leon find my armor like he did?”

  
Merlin met Arthur’s gaze head on. “I’m sorry. I was tired, sire.”

  
“You were _tired_ ,” Arthur huffed. “I’ve never been tired a day in my life, Merlin. What’s that like?”

  
“You’ve been running me ragged all week,” Merlin dared to say, his anger making him bold. “Dragging me out of bed before dawn, beating on me with all of your stupid metal torture devices, making me polish your armor and wash your stinky clothes and clean up after yourself like you’re a child. So forgive me, _sire_ \--” he drew out the word like a barb on his breath, “--for being a little tired.”

  
“You watch your tongue!” Arthur shouted, rising from his seat.

  
Merlin’s fatigue and anger mixed together in a truly lethal concoction, for he said, “Maybe you should watch yours.”

  
Arthur slammed a fist on the table, making the dinner plates jump. “How dare you!”

  
“I mean it!” Merlin said, only the slightest bit scared at the raging beast before him. “All you do is insult me day in and day out. I let you attack me with a sword. I bring you meals, better meals than _I’ve_ ever eaten, mind you. I make your bed. I fluff your princely pillows and bring you new ones when you complain, ‘They’re too _flat_ , Merlin’, even though I’d give my right arm for even a _flat_ pillow. I ride out with you into bandit-infested woods with nothing to protect me but this thin leather jacket. There isn’t anything I don’t do for you Arthur, but do I ever get a word of thanks? No. All I get are speeches about how utterly worthless I am.”

  
Arthur gaped at him, frozen as a statue behind his desk. All the anger had left his eyes, replaced by a startled kind of hurt. A small, savage part of Merlin enjoyed the sight.

  
“Don’t let your dinner get cold, sire,” Merlin said, turning toward the door. “I’ll go fix up that armor straightaway.”  
**************

  
Merlin returned to the physician’s chambers to find Gaius waiting for him, hands on his hips. Merlin groaned internally and hung his head.

  
“Why is the floor all dirty, Merlin?” Gaius asked. “I thought it was your job to clean it up.”

  
“It is, but I knocked over the worm tank on accident.”

  
“And decided not to clean up after yourself?”

  
“I put the worms back,” Merlin said, almost inaudibly.

  
Gaius shook his head. “Clean that up before dinner. And afterwards, you’ve reminded me of another thing that needs cleaning.”

  
“Gaius--” Merlin whined.

  
Gaius tossed him a rag. “Come on. The leech tank will be waiting for you once you’ve eaten.”  
***********

  
The moon was high once Merlin had finally picked every leech off him and was able to crawl into bed. His limbs were jelly-like with exhaustion, but the white-hot anger that boiled inside him would not let him rest. He had been hoping to go to bed earlier that night, seeing as though Arthur would doubtless call for him at dawn again the next morning, but no. He had to spend his precious little free time cleaning a leech tank, of all things.

  
It struck Merlin then that no one seemed to truly appreciate all he did, not even Gaius. He collected herbs, made potions, delivered medicines, and cleaned up after the old physician, but Gaius seldom thanked him either. Merlin had always thought him gracious, especially compared to Arthur, but he realized that neither of his masters seemed to really understand how hard all of these tasks were on Merlin, day in and day out.

  
Merlin laughed bitterly under his breath. The words of the Great Dragon, comparing Merlin and Arthur to two sides of a coin, two halves of a whole, seemed like a cruel mockery. The dragon and even Gaius kept speaking of a great kingdom, a great new age that Arthur would usher in with Merlin at his side, but such an idea seemed like a useless fantasy, a fever dream. How could Arthur create a great kingdom if he couldn’t appreciate what was right before him?

  
Merlin heard the door shut, and he remembered that Gaius was spending the night in the lower town, tending to a minor influenza outbreak. That was what decided it for Merlin. The next morning, he would rise, before dawn as had become usual, but this time of his own volition. He would run away to the woods, away from this kingdom where no one appreciated him for who he truly was, and no one could convince him any differently.   
******

  
True to plan, Merlin awoke just as the sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, and began to pack all of his meager possessions into his rucksack. He was in the middle of folding his spare shirt when a knock came at the door.

  
Arthur stepped in. “You’re awake,” he said awkwardly. He was dressed, and held a small cloth bag in one hand.

  
Merlin’s heart sank. Why couldn’t anything go off without a hitch? “Very observant of you.”

  
Arthur lingered in the doorway for another moment, before coming to Merlin’s side. He gestured at the shirt. “What are you doing?”

  
“Packing,” Merlin said simply, hoping his tone didn’t betray him.

  
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Why? I haven’t called you to go on a hunt.”

  
“No, but Gaius has asked me to spend the morning fetching herbs for him in the forest. Not everything revolves around you, Arthur.”

  
Arthur blinked as if he’d been stung. “Oh. Where is Gaius?”

"In the lower town tending to influenza patients.”

  
“Oh,” Arthur said. “Good.”

  
Merlin sighed. “What is it you’ve come for?”  
Arthur’s face took on the same expression he wore before battle, his jaw clenching and flexing, his eyes unseeing. “To apologize. My behavior toward you yesterday, and for the past week, has been unacceptable, and I’m sorry.” Arthur reached into the cloth bag and produced a small rabbit whittled from a piece of wood. “You said you liked rabbits and you’re right, I haven’t been showing you any appreciation, and I’d like to start.”

  
Merlin just stared at the model rabbit, crouched in Arthur’s palm, unable to form a response. After a long, breathless silence, Arthur stuffed the rabbit back into his bag and turned away, his cheeks coloring.

  
“Who am I kidding?” he murmured, laughing nervously. “You don’t want this. Forget it.”

  
“No, Arthur, I want it!” Merlin said, finally finding his voice. “I was just surprised that you remembered me saying that. Please, Arthur, give it to me.”

  
Reluctantly, Arthur reached back into the bag and pulled it out. “It’s not very good,” he mumbled as he handed it to Merlin, eyes downcast. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want it.”

  
Merlin turned the wood rabbit over in his hands. In a way, Arthur was right. The figure wasn’t perfect; it’s eyes were lopsided, and one leg was thicker than the other. Surely not the work of a craftsman, it had the touch of a hobbyist, one who had been good enough once but had fallen out of practice.

  
Merlin looked up. “Arthur,” he said slowly. “Did you make this?”

  
“Depends on whether you like it or not,” he said gruffly.

  
Merlin laughed, incredulous. “What? Arthur! I can’t believe it. I didn’t know you could…”

  
Arthur snorted. “That I could do anything but be a childish prat?”

  
The words hit Merlin the wrong way, like a slap across the face. “I didn’t say that.”

  
“You didn’t have to.”

  
Merlin rubbed his finger along the rabbit’s smooth head. “Arthur, this is really good. When did you learn to do this?”

  
“I spent a lot of time alone as a child,” Arthur said. “I needed some kind of hobby.”

  
For all Merlin wanted to hate Arthur, the prince’s words and the way he said them made Merlin want to hug him. Then, realization spread across him, cool and flowing. Arthur had trouble treating Merlin as a friend because he’d never _had_ a friend before. Merlin imagined him as a child, spending countless hours whittling in his chambers, away from the prying and expectant eyes of the royal court, and everything suddenly made more sense to him. The prince had never been _allowed_ to have any friends.

  
“How long did this take you to make?”

  
Arthur shrugged. “Not long.”

  
But Merlin saw the dark circles beneath his tired eyes, and Merlin knew. Arthur had stayed up all night to make it. Only his mother had ever spent more time on a gift for him.

  
Merlin set the rabbit reverently down on the table, beside his pack and his shirt. “Arthur, you didn’t have to--”

  
Arthur held up his hand. “But I did. I was thinking about what you said yesterday, and you were right. About everything.”

  
Merlin shook his head. “I was angry when I said that. Exhausted and angry. You mustn’t think--”

  
It was Arthur’s turn to shake his head. “Angry or not, you were right, and I needed to hear it.” He smiled a bit. “Insolent as you are, you always seem to set me right when I’m not thinking straight.”

  
Merlin smiled as well, and decided to chance it. “So, by that you mean every second of every day?”

  
Arthur’s smile darkened. “Don’t make me regret coming here.”

  
Merlin picked up the rabbit again. “But really, Arthur, you shouldn’t have stayed up all night to make this. You look exhausted.”

  
“I couldn’t have slept anyway. I wanted to come here to apologize immediately, but it didn’t seem like enough. Not with how angry you were.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, guilt niggling at his stomach. “I didn’t mean to get like that.”

  
Arthur laughed loudly. “Merlin, you’ve seen my father. If that’s your worst, I think I can handle it.”

  
That statement, though doubtless meant to soothe him, only made his guilt intensify. Merlin stared at the floor. He had been doubting Arthur, doubting him so much as to run away, and Arthur had just proved him wrong in the most stark way possible. He did care about Merlin, he just struggled to show it. Unbidden, Merlin felt tears prick at his eyes and he willed them away.

  
“Come on, is the rabbit really that bad?”

  
Merlin looked at Arthur, sniffed back his tears and laughed. “No! It’s just really nice, that’s all. I love it. Thank you.”

  
Arthur rolled his eyes. “This time, I think we both know the situation warrants it. You really are a girl, Merlin.” But the words were fond this time, and accompanied by a slap on the shoulder that was as close to a hug as Arthur would get. “Go on and get packed. I won’t keep you any longer.”

  
Arthur turned to go but Merlin stopped him. “Actually, Arthur, I don’t really need to pack anymore.”

  
Arthur faced him with a bewildered expression. “But Gaius wants you to go to the forest for herbs.”

  
“I don’t really have to go.”

  
“Then how will he get the herbs?”

  
“Gaius’ll get them.”

  
Arthur didn’t look convinced.

  
“He likes to get them,” Merlin said, fumbling for an explanation. “After a night out, you know, helping people. Says it helps him clear his head.”

  
Arthur looked at him for a long moment, then decided, “You’re strange, Merlin. One of the strangest people I’ve met.”

  
“I thought you were repentant and were going to be nicer to me.”

  
“Strange can be a compliment.”

  
“Not coming from you.”

  
“Don’t push it, Merlin.”

  
“You know what you can do if you really want to make it up to me?”

  
They were walking now, out of the physician’s chamber and down the hall toward the armory to get Arthur ready for the day’s training. “Please,” Arthur said, “Enlighten me.”

  
“You could be the target and let me do the hitting?”

  
Arthur shoved his friend into a wall. “Not a chance, Merlin.”

 

 


End file.
